


The Witch's Tale

by teamchaosprez



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dark Magic, F/F, Fairy Tale Elements, Magic, Resurrection, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Witchcraft, Witches, fareeha dies but she gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 03:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamchaosprez/pseuds/teamchaosprez
Summary: Long before the time of Junkenstein, before Adlersbrunn existed, the Witch of the Wilds resided where the castle is today with her beloved. Once, she was good.





	The Witch's Tale

**Author's Note:**

> this idea came to me while playing junkenstein w my friends shhhh

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a gentle witch and the love of her life, a young woman who was once a member of the royal guard. They lived ostracised from society, not only because of the witch’s magic ways, but also because of their love for one another.

Neither of them could say they minded it. They had one another, and everything that they needed. Convinced that their love could move mountains, the witch was content to remain hidden away deep into the woods where none from the nearby village could find them. She was so certain that they would live like this - happy, simple, and free - forever.

Certainty, though, is a surefire way to affirm that nothing will happen as planned.

The witch was a pacifist, never wanting to hurt anybody, never wanting to use her magic for dark purposes. She had been born with her abilities, an outcast since childhood, but the thought to hurt someone else never crossed her mind. It hurt her that other people were too afraid of her to even come close, it hurt her that they called her names and threw rotten tomatoes at her and yelled to her dearly departed father that she and her mother should be burned at the stake.

It hurt her when her mother was killed by someone who thought she made a deal with the devil to create a witch child. It hurt her when her father spoke to one of the farmhands that she should be put to death for the trouble that she put him through. 

She ran far, far away from society, to a small cottage that her mother often took her to - where she would be safe. Where she wouldn’t have to hear other people’s voices, the hurtful words they hurdled at her. Her powers grew as she did, and eventually she was a young woman with fine blonde hair, a gentle voice, and ears that would listen for those who needed help. Never disclosing her location - but visiting the village at night to provide assistance to the poor and the hungry.

Because even if the world had hurt her so… this curse was hers for a reason, was it not?

For ten years, she did not visit the village where she was raised. She was happy to rest in her cottage with her magic and the mice that scuttled around the old wood floors as company. 

The royal guard was a woman raised by a single mother that came to Germany from a place far away to fight in a war with an old friend. Her father died when she was a newborn, and her mother had raised her to believe in honor and justice. She wanted to protect the innocent because of these values, and she wanted to help those who had been wrongfully harmed.

She was a few years younger than the witch, and had been merely ten years old when she was driven out of the village. As far as she remembered, the other girl had done nothing wrong - had been hated simply because of the way she was born.

_ That, _ in the guard’s eyes, was wrong.

As a young woman, she became a guard for the royals that were staying in the village for the time being, and the witch didn’t cross her mind until rumors about her helping peasants began circulating around the village. The guard waited late into the night, walking around the cobblestone streets in her uniform and waiting for someone to show up.

It didn’t take very long for a figure in a dark cloak and a hat to catch her eye.

The guard quietly followed her from several feet behind, pretending to be someone simply casually walking along the streets - late into the night, perhaps, but just on a walk nonetheless. She watched the figure gently wave her hands over a homeless woman in ratty clothes clutching a crying baby, watched the pair stop shivering as they were warmed before the figure removed her hood, revealing a young woman with blonde hair and a kind smile. She handed the mother a loaf of bread, rose to her feet, and replaced her hood.

Just as she thought. This was the witch - and she was certainly not as awful as rumors told her.

So she followed her until she was a safe distance from anyone that would overhear - and then called out the information that few people knew.

Her name.

And the rest was history.

It was a sunny autumn day when the guard and the witch were to be married. Over the past year they suffered much - from struggling to keep the cottage’s location hidden to the royals finding out about the relationship and casting the guard out. Through all of it, though, they had each other, and that made even the worst of it bearable. And now they were going to be wed by a trusted priestess.

The witch’s dress was long and white, and the guard wore a suit. The ceremony consisted of only the two of them, and the witch was growing close to tears as she stood before her beloved, looked up into her warm brown eyes, and began to say her vows…

Moments into her speech, however, she was startled by an arrow whizzing past her head and nestling itself into the logs of her cottage. Heart pounding, she looked into the woods around them with widened blue eyes and a heart pounding. Her fiancee reacted more quickly than she did, wrapping her strong arms around her and pulling her into the house.

“What’s happening?” the witch asked quickly, glancing out of the small window and watching as the priestess ran to join a growing group of villagers emerging from the woods. A feeling of hurt and fear blossomed from her heart into the rest of her body, and part of her wanted to cry whilst most of her was beginning to get angry.

“We’re under attack,” the guard responded with a quiet and angry voice, and quickly began to usher her out of the kitchen and towards their bedroom. Within moments of them stepping into the doorway, though, the sound of shattering glass convinced her to look back.

Just in time to watch the tablecloth burst into flames.

The witch screamed, and the guard pushed her back into the room with more force than she was used to her fiancee showing. 

Her beloved shoved her next to the bed before joining her and holding her close as if to protect her with her body. The witch was too frightened to object, and wrapped her arms around the guard, closing her blue eyes tightly.

After a few moments, everything was silent. Blissfully silent

Worryingly silent.

The witch had barely lifted her head from her lover’s chest when the glass of the window above their bed shattered and a flaming arrow pierced the bedsheets. The fire was quick to ignite the blanket, and within what felt like moments it was out of control, having spread to the rest of the bedroom. The guard reacted quickly and harshly, pushing the witch down and protecting her with her body.

She tried to push her beloved off, but when she failed, she simply curled up and held tightly to her shirt, closing her eyes and praying for it all to be over soon. Praying that it would happen quickly and that everything would be alright. Wishing that she would go unconscious and not awaken until this was over.

Years of magic had not taught her to be careful what she wished for, apparently, because everything went black.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she registered was that it was cold. The warmth and crispness of the autumn air had given way to harsh October winds. Glancing past the strong shoulder of her lover, she saw the dark sky of a brewing storm… and within moments, she realized that her beloved guard was collapsed over her.

Too cold.

Too clammy.

The witch felt for her neck. For a pulse.

A mournful wail filled the air of the wilds, and she shoved the corpse off of herself, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. She barely noticed that the cottage had burned down to a smoldering pile of wood and stone. That at least two or three hours must have passed.

She saw her guard’s soul, its yellow warmth and gentleness so much like the heart of its owner. The witch reached out, cupped her hands over it - over her. Keeping her safe. She hadn’t moved on yet, she could still be saved - even if her skin was growing gray and cold and burns covered her back and part of her face. The witch could barely see anything through her tears. Could barely feel anything but piercing pain, anger, fear of the scenario that she wouldn’t be able to save her. She pulled herself to her feet, wincing and stumbling when she felt a burn covering one of her legs.

“I curse this land, and whoever attempts to build upon it, so that they may have the worst of fortunes. I curse those who hurt my beloved Fareeha, that their family lines may die out just as she did. I curse the priestess, so that she may be abandoned by the god she relies so heavily on.”

Her staff was no longer on her. Only a broom that had been crushed beneath her body. She barely hesitated in lifting it far above her head, feeling her yellow magic pulsing from her hands and into the wood. She rested her beloved’s soul upon her chest, taking a deep breath, letting all of the emotions she had felt through this ordeal spill out into her magic.

**“HEROES NEVER DIE!”**


End file.
